


The Portrait

by Phasingphoenix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phasingphoenix/pseuds/Phasingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrible portrait of the Inquisitor is painted for her birthday. She thinks it's atrocious, Krem thinks it's a little hilarious. Drinking ensues to help cope.</p>
<p>I think this is just going to stay a oneshot, but I figured everyone needed a little more Krem in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Portrait

It’s really… well.

It’s really quite….

Something.

The starry-eyed dwarf is nearly glowing, waiting expectantly for those gathered to cheer or grovel or cry or whatever people do when they look at art. None of that happens for a long moment, and the smile on his face says he attributes that to dumbstruck awe. 

“It’s, ah… warm,” Varric finally says carefully. “Very warm. I can really sense the _heat_ in it.”

“I was very much intending a warm look, Master Tethras!” the other dwarf says joyfully. “So glad you caught the theme!”

“Her tits look a little big,” Krem says, earning a painful jab from Varric. 

“It’s _artistic license_ , kid,” he says firmly.

Krem doesn’t argue, but he still thinks an elf’s rack is not supposed to be that size. He likes hers the way they are in real life. Well, not in that capacity, like - proportional. She is very proportional. More than this canvas says she is, at least.

“I imagine she will be overjoyed when she sees it,” says Ambassador Montilyet, but there’s a carefulness in her voice that Krem has heard during rough negotiations. The ones he’s seen, anyway, and those probably don’t even compare to the worst of them. “When _are_ you planning on showing the Inquisitor her portrait, by the way?”

“During her birthday celebration, of course!” the dwarf says. “I’ll unveil it before the entire hall, surprising and stunning her worship, and then the piece may be hung just behind the throne of judgment!”

There is noticeable discomfort at the prospect. Krem thinks the piece might be more appropriate in the tavern to raise morale with the leading rack of the Inquisition, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut this time. 

“That is… certainly one idea,” Josephine says, forcing a smile. “We will discuss the details of this later.”

“Yes, Ambassador. Don’t let me keep you from your work,” he says with a short little bow.

“Nor you from… yours.” She gives a quick nod, then heads out of the room. 

The dwarf looks around at the two remaining members of his audience, who are still staring in slight awe at the painting, though not the kind of awe he’s thinking of. He looks at it, too, smiles broadly, then announces that he needs to prepare the silk cover. Varric and Krem remain, turning their heads this way and that as though it will somehow make the thing look better. They both know only liquor makes bad things look better.

“When you said Josephine needed you and you needed a witness, I was expecting it to be worth the shitty alcohol,” Krem says. “Iron Bull’s favors usually are.”

“So was I, kid,” Varric says in a dejected tone. “So was I.”

“Why are we here, anyway?”

He sighs. “Ruffles knew what was coming, apparently. She needed to not be the only one in the room with that monster and its creator.”

Krem can sympathize. “Why’s he got it down here?”

“He thinks it’s hidden. The Inquisitor would _never_ condescend to go into the lower levels of Skyhold, wherein all the servants and storage are located.” Varric shakes his head. “I’m gonna find out who hired him and shoot them. Then I’ll shoot him.”

Krem smirks, shaking his head at the painting. “Five sovereigns says she’ll find it before he’s even done with that blanket he’s gone to fetch.”

“Ten says she’ll already be a little drunk when she does.”

Krem gives him a look. “It’s the middle of the day, dwarf, she doesn’t go into the cellars until evening.” 

Varric laughs. “ _You_ obviously don’t spend a lot of time with our beloved Inquisitor.”

“I spend enough,” he says with some reproach. “Alright, Tethras, I’ll take that bet.”

“And I’ll take yours,” Varric says, firmly shaking the Charger’s hand. “I’ll meet you back at the tavern.”

“Yeah. I just need another moment to… grapple with this.” He turns back to the portrait as Varric walks away still chuckling, and tries to make sense of what happened to the canvas. It’s not _god-awful_ , as far as art goes. Krem’s seen worse. Hell, Bull’s maps could be mistaken for the product of a nug and a stick of charcoal sometimes, so it’s not the technique that’s bad. It’s the subject. The dwarf had taken a narrow, roguish elf and then really only emphasized the rogue. And the tits. Maker, the Inquisitor in the painting could make a decent bar wench if those eyes weren’t painfully accurate. The eyes, among other things, are what say it’s her, and Krem knows those eyes well enough to not even _think_ about touching the ass that goes with them, whether he was into that practice or not. 

The worst part is probably the familiarity that’s still there. Yeah, the chest is too big, and the smoldering expression as she holds a bleeding rose probably overdoes the drama a bit, and the fire in the background just doesn’t make any logical sense, but she’s still recognizable. And, yeah, it’s a caricature basically, but one that brings out all those traits he’s focused on without knowing it. The only reason he knows now is because he can call out those flaws. 

“ _Ma ghilana mir din'an…._ ”

Shit. Krem turns, seeing a slack-jawed Inquisitor staring at the portrait, a string of murmured swears flowing from her lips, both in elvish and in the common tongue. A bottle hangs from her hand. Well, there go ten well-earned sovereigns.

“What is that?” she asks, stepping forward.

“A birthday present, your worship,” Krem says, amused and a little afraid at the same time.

She cringes, then looks at him. “Did _you_ paint this?” 

He shakes his head quickly. “It was a dwarf, Master…. Actually, I don’t know his name.”

She puts a hand to her head, making a face. “I don’t really look like this, do I?”

“No, Inquisitor. You’re much more… proportional.” Is his face reddening? He hopes his face isn’t reddening.

“Damn right I am,” she says, taking a drink from her bottle as she glares at that awful version of her. “Do you want any?”

He looks at the bottle, then shrugs and takes it. Might as well. It’s bound to be better than whatever crap Varric’s going to pay for later. 

_Maker_ , this stuff burns. “Where did you get this?” he says, coughing slightly. It’s right on up there with the bilge Bull drinks, and that stuff’s usually made for Qunari.

She shrugs, taking the bottle back. “I think this one came from the Forbidden Oasis.” She looks at the label, an amused grin forming. “Ah. _Exposure to skin is not recommended, though likely unavoidable_. There you go.” 

“You’re supposed to be saving the world and you’re running around picking up bottles of swill?”

She gives him a look, one she’s given him before and one that usual get his blood a little warmer. “Are you complaining?”

He holds her gaze as long as is safe, then takes the bottle back along with another drink. “I don’t complain. I leave that to the chief.” 

. . .

At some point, they end up back in the tavern to finish off the bottle, and Varric and Bull are both there to help. Bull unwillingly approves of the drink, but sends for a bottle from his own stores because he needs to prove his manliness. Again. Krem knows the routine. 

The Inquisitor doesn’t bat an eyelash, to everyone’s simultaneous horror and delight. Elf drink is weak as hell most of the time, unless it’s being used for some hair-raising ritual no one can remember the reason for. Krem can’t fathom how she could have gotten so good at this game. 

“You’re everything I ever wanted in literary inspiration,” Varric tells her, and Krem thinks that’s not a bad pick-up line, provided he actually knew anything about literature. 

She just looks at him, a little bleary because, come on, she can drink it, but it’s still strong. “I’m everything everyone’s ever wanted in anything.”

Krem can’t disagree. He should, but he doesn’t.

“Bull, where - Bull, where is that thing? The thing you’ve always got on round your shoulder and chest?” She pantomimes strapping something on, fingers running over those proportional breasts. 

Krem knows what she’s talking about. “Took it off ‘cause his tits were hurting,” he says, face pressed into his hand because wow, this is _really_ strong stuff.

Bull gives him a look and he knows the brand of shit that’s coming. “Again, it’s a _harness_ , Krem.”

“Yeah, I’d need a harness, too.”

“All I’m hearing is that you want to train right now, _with_ shields and full armor.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll have a go,” he says, making the attempt to rise to his feet. Varric, thankfully, pulls him back down to his chair. 

“Boys, boys, no fighting,” the Inquisitor says, waving a hand.

“With all due respect, your worship, he started it,” Krem says, gesturing to Iron Bull.

“Oh, leave off it, will you?” she says, and he thinks she’s talking about the argument. “It’s Lihari. That painting is ‘your worship.’”

“I’d rather not,” Varric says, looking sick at the thought. “I know gods are supposed to be freaky-looking, but worshiping that….”

“What?” Bull asks, looking between the three.

“Someone commissioned a dwarf to paint our leader for her birthday,” Krem says. “S’not a surprise anymore.”

The Qunari snorts. “They’re better with rocks than paint. Is there a beard?”

“ _No_ , thank Sylaise,” Lihari says, putting her face in her arms. “I think I’m done drinking now.”

“Gonna crash here, boss?”

She just nods, forehead rubbing against forearms. 

Bull shrugs and takes another sip. He doesn’t care. It’s happened before, he knows where to put her so people don’t get weird. “Krem,” he says, jerking his horned head in the appropriate direction.

Why Bull thinks his lieutenant can get the Inquisitor to safety when he’s equally as hammered is beyond Krem, but he does it anyway. In his foggy mind, he’s pretty okay with wrapping his arms around her soft body. Her head rests against his shoulder as he gets her standing, and she’s so light that this isn’t hard. Is he blushing, or is that the alcohol? Varric’s laughing, so it’s probably both. Whatever, he can deal with that when he’s sober. 

She’s leaning pretty hard, actually. He glances down, and she’s actually burying her face in his arm. “You smell like the tavern.”

“I basically live in the tavern.”

She opens one green eye. It’s a frosty kind of green, like colored glass. One of the only things that damned painter got right. “What else do you do in the tavern?”

He falters at the stairs, wondering if she means what he thinks she means. “Drink,” he says carefully. That’s good neutral ground.

She has to grab the front of his shirt to make herself face him dead-on. “Any… _recreational_ activities?”

Okay, she means what he thinks she means. He swallows and he can feel himself getting hot. Most of the time, this doesn’t happen. Most of the time, the girls are nailing the Iron Bull and then spreading the word of how good he is so that more girls can go nail the Iron Bull. Most of the time, Krem is just good with bashing people’s heads in and getting a drink and some gold in return. 

The Inquisitor never applies to “most of the time.”

“Inquisitor… you are _aware_ ….” He clears his throat. His palms feel sweaty. He just doesn’t want her to get her hopes up.

“I’m aware,” she says evenly. “And I told you, my name’s-”

“Lihari.” Wow. Fun to say and gives him tingles. “I know.” 

She smiles, green eyes glinting. “So?”

“So… we’re both drunk.”

“And?”

“And….” He rubs the back of his head. “I’m just barely functioning enough to remember that’s probably not a good idea.” 

She lets her head fall back in exasperation. “ _Krem_ ….”

“Okay, deal: when we’re both sober, I will guarantee that you come so grandly your grandchildren will be feeling the euphoria.”

She grins widely, laughs loudly, then grabs him by the face and just eats him alive. Her mouth is soft, pulling on his lower lip in a way that makes him burn for her, like the fire in that Maker-damned portrait. “Deal,” she says quietly. “Now let me sleep this off.”

“Your wish is my command, Inquisitor,” he says, voice cracking, and he starts to escort her up the stairs.

He doesn’t notice the applause from Bull and Varric.


End file.
